


A Greater Monster or Miracle

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have changed,” said the creature, and if its banked strength was still unsettlingly monstrous, the way its rough voice trembled and turned almost soft in its pleading was even more terrible to Javert. The tremor struck at Javert like a knife. Before, the creature’s voice been sullen, furious, demanding; never had it sounded plaintive or weary.</p>
<p>(Or a fusion AU with Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Greater Monster or Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon prompt for the three-sentence meme on Tumblr, who asked for Javert/Valjean Frankenstein. This will be in two parts-- the first is a ficlet of Frankenstein!Javert/Creature!Valjean and the second is Frankenstein!Valjean/Creature!Javert. 
> 
> Thanks go out to Sarah1281 for helping me figure out how to write this. 
> 
> The title comes from Michel de Montaigne: "I have never seen a greater monster or miracle in the world than myself."

“I have changed,” said the creature, and if its banked strength was still unsettlingly monstrous, the way its rough voice trembled and turned almost soft in its pleading was even more terrible to Javert. The tremor struck at Javert like a knife. Before, the creature’s voice been sullen, furious, demanding; never had it sounded plaintive or weary. “Although you do not believe me, I tell you again that I have changed. I wish no revenge upon society, though it has cast me out unjustly. I swear to reject all thoughts of hatred. I shall embrace humanity, though it spurns and despises me.” Its voice lowered at this final utterance, as though the words hurt it to say.  

It seemed, Javert thought with no small amount of bitterness, the creature had at last learned how to mimic gentler feelings than rage and hatred, though not well enough to fool him.

“You are an  _abomination_ ,” he hissed through his teeth, “and I am an even greater monster for creating you. We must both be put out of our misery for the good of society.” The pistol shook in his grip even as horrified comprehension turned the creature’s features still harsher. Javert tried once more to lift the pistol and point it at the creature now watching him with an expression verging on despair, but again his arm refused to obey. It was all he could do to keep hold of the pistol rather than drop it, when it should have been simple enough to shoot the creature, who stood so near that even a blind man would have been unable to miss his mark, and then to turn the gun upon himself and finally quiet his raging thoughts with a bullet.

Was this what madness felt like, then, he wondered, a wild unraveling of his thoughts so that they flew in all directions, a sudden rebellion of his limbs so that he could not command them to put decision to action, a creeping suspicion that the creature was being honest when all sense and reason told Javert that it lied?

Javert recoiled from that thought. Then he laughed, noiselessly. “Do you expect me to believe some pretty words, when I have heard with my own ears the extent of your rage, seen with my own eyes the destructive nature of your strength? You despise mankind. You might have saved that man Fauchelevent, but it was surely for some selfish reason I cannot yet fathom. You would kill—”

“No.”

The word, uttered with implacable certainty, struck like a second, deeper thrust of a knife; Javert shuddered, his hand spasmed, the pistol fell between them with a dull thud.

The creature’s gaze remained fixed upon Javert as his hand clenched and unclenched upon open air; it did not even glance at the fallen weapon. Instead, the creature said softly, “I do not wish death or misery upon any living being, not now, not ever. No, not even you, who created me and forsook me, who did not even give me a name before he cast me out. You are forgiven, what is past is past. I am made anew through my own volition. I have chosen my own name, Valjean, and my own path, affection.”

At this, the creature extended its own hand, the movement made with exaggerated care, as though their places were reversed and Javert now a beast that would spook and flee. Javert stared at the offered hand and found that he could not move, fixed in place by his traitorous limbs.

“I would embrace humanity, if only it would answer in kind,” the creature said, and even Javert, in his bewildered despair, could not mistake the overture in the quiet words, or in the gentle way the creature took hold of Javert’s outstretched hand and pressed it with a hopeful smile. 

The creature’s hand was callused and queerly warm, as though the lightning that had animated it still sparked within its veins. Another laugh, this time low and hoarse, escaped Javert’s throat. His head pounded, his thoughts continuing to rage for a long moment. Then something that was not quite calm settled over him.

His hand shook, but he did not draw his hand away. “Well,” he muttered, lips drawn back into a smile he knew from past remarks looked more like a tiger’s baring of teeth, “I do not think I have it in me to follow that particular path, V—Va—” The name caught in his throat, choked him. He could not yet say it, despite the way those dark eyes widened and then grew almost fever-bright with hope. He coughed, dislodging the name from his throat for the moment. “You say I abandoned you. I did. Let me— let me follow you then, and ensure that you do not stray from your path.”

There was silence for a moment, and then— “I do not wish to be your responsibility. I wish dearly to be your friend.” 

“I know nothing of friendship,” Javert said with a dry laugh. “Such sentiments are as foreign to me as they are to you. We would be two fools stumbling around in the dark, uncertain of each step.”

“Then let us stumble around until we discover a path we can walk together,” Valjean said, and again there could be no mistaking the overture in its— in  _his_ voice as he squeezed Javert’s hand. 

Heat crept into Javert’s face then, warmed his belly in a way that half-unnerved him, but still Javert did not draw his hand away. He wetted his lips, the other’s gaze like a pressure against his skin.

“Very well,” he said, and then found, with no small amount of wonder, that Valjean’s expression turned luminous when smiling in delight.


End file.
